


want

by ayuminb



Series: Jonsa Smut Week [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (she's also thirsty af), (too good for this world - too pure), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Horny Teenagers, Idiots in Love, Jon Has a Fantasy, Jon Snow is a Stark, Jon is Jon, Jonsa Smut Week, Post-Canon, Post-Series, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Sansa is Cinnamon Roll, Sansa is Happy to Comply
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2017-11-30
Packaged: 2019-02-08 15:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12867432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ayuminb/pseuds/ayuminb
Summary: in which Sansa is the one to indulge, this time.[written for theJonsa Smut Week, day four - fantasies]





	want

**Author's Note:**

> sequel to [silk](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12802629)

She sits atop the furs, head tilting as she tries to comprehend his hesitation. Sansa had thought, after coming _together_ —after the long period of courting he insisted on once they were betrothed, a sensible request, as she’d been a girl of four-and-ten then, after the moons of good marriage that followed once she turned six-and-ten.

 

Sansa _thinks_ there is nothing she and Jon cannot talk about. But now he paces her bedchamber like a caged wolf, casting flustered glances her way every now and then. And it’s making her nervous.

 

They’re supposed to leave all worries and matters of state, of governing, outside these wall; once the doors to either his or hers chambers closed, they world is supposed to cease mattering – they’d _promised_.

 

“Jon, what troubles you?” He gives her a startled look and she huffs. “Please, you can tell me. I’m worried—”

 

That finally prompts a reaction – though not the one she’d expected. Bounding to her side, he nearly trips onto the bed in his haste; grabs her hands to place gentle kisses on each palm, then proceed to do the same to her lips.

 

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry, m’lady, I didn’t mean to worry you,” he scoots closer, looking suddenly sheepish. “It’s nothing bad, I _promise_ you, only – I’m just being…”

 

“…silly?”

 

He grins.

 

“Something still troubles you, though.”

 

“Not really, I just – don’t know how to say it,” he pauses, and Sansa can see how he steels his resolve as he looks at her, how he gather his wits. “I’d like to try something.”

 

She arches an eyebrow askance, “alright?”

 

Jon clear his throat, color rushes to his cheeks, but he soldiers on. “In _here_ —a fantasy I have.”

 

Oh, _alright_. Sansa perks up; this explains his nervous behavior since they’d stumbled into her bedchambers, since shedding most of their clothing. It’s not _new_ – the concept of… _sexual fantasies_. They had explored _some_ —mostly hers, though Jon insists those are some of his too. But Sansa suspects her lord husband is eager to oblige in pretty much everything she suggests, so it’s hard to say sometimes.

 

But this—her blood thrums in anticipation—this is _good_. She’d long wanted to hear of Jon’s desires, those that don’t involve a voiced comment from her. After all, unlike her, he’d not come into this marriage a green boy. Her handmaids, when given leave to talk, had told her that to be a good thing – that if Jon was kind, he would make her feel nice.

 

They’ve been right; Jon had been so, _so_ kind to her, so very quick to please her and indulge her curiosity.

 

The late night spent in the Godswood’s hot springs comes to mind; a night they spent laughing and splashing around without a care in the world, and then—say it, say it, Sansa, no use being shy now— _fucking_. The also spent it fucking, right there out in the open, and not even the winter chill dissuaded them from repeating the experience. Then there’s the time he allowed her to tie him up; she’s yet to be able to think about that night without having her face burn.

 

“Tell me,” she says— _gasps_ , and her face must show her desire because when her eyes lock on his, Jon’s pupils blow wide leaving nary a hint of the gray she loves so much. “Tell me what you want.”

 

Jon leans forward, until their foreheads touch, and whispers, “I want you to ride my face.”

 

The bolt of pleasure that assaults her, going straight between her legs, _shocks_ her. It’s not like his boldness is an uncommon occurrence—the _things_ he would whisper sometimes, low and rumbling and so, _so filthy_. But it’s his expression – open and positively hungry. His ragged breath and trembling hands.

 

He wants this, craves it desperately; and suddenly, so does she.

 

Her answer is a kiss that has them both struggling for breath afterwards, it’s her urging for him to lie down against the pillows – it’s her tugging of her smallclothes and pulling off her shift, her burning cheeks at what’s to come.

 

It’s the soft moan that escapes her once she grabs his hands for balance, moves to straddle his face. Gods but this is so—wicked and _so_.

 

Jon doesn’t let her hover, he’s never been one to delay when having permission. He hooks his arms around her thighs, bracing his hands on her hips, and pulls her to him—to his mouth. Her breath hitches and the groan Jon lets out rocks her whole being, right down to the very tips of her hair. He laps up at her like a man starved; the very thought of it has Sansa covering her mouth with one hand to stave off the sounds building in her chest.

 

Bracing her free hand on the headboard, she lets her hips follow the motions Jon’s hands prompt; back and forth, rocking gently as he licks and sucks and works his magic on her. Back and forth, a soft canter, just as he wanted. Feels one of his hands squeeze her bum, while the other moves around to press his thumb to that place that never fails to set her off.

 

It’s his tongue what does it _now_ – pushing into her and curling.

 

Jon moans—and Sansa thinks she’s never been happier to be the one indulging.


End file.
